Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. Be a sport, and pile it all on me!" He went to bed. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. "Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. You denied it at the time—but unfortunately I have proof.
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